


Restless Winter Leave

by Raven_Knight



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bones is So Done, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: To mark the occasion of their first Winter Rest Leave as a couple, Kirk and Spock decide to try something for the first time since they began their romantic involvement: Sleeping together.





	Restless Winter Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. This piece, archived at Archive of Our Own (Ao3) and the Kirk/Spock Archive, is purely a non-commercial work of fiction from which I am not profiting in any way. This work may not be reproduced, archived, or redistributed by any means and/or in any format without prior written permission from me. Permission may be obtained by contacting me at r4v3n.kn1ght@gmail.com 
> 
> This was written for Kirk/Spock Advent 2017. I was a little stuck on some kind of idea for this one because I wasn’t really feeling like writing something very romantic. After looking over some things I’ve already written, I saw that I’d done a troublesome sleeping arrangement type of story before with Bones and Jim as roommates, and thought, “How would this basic plot work for Jim and Spock?” this time around. I ended up with this humor/crackfic Enjoy the story, everyone! I hope it makes you laugh, but also makes you smile from the warm fuzzy feelings sprinkled here and there in it. Thanks for reading! ~ RK

Their relationship developed over what Lieutenant Uhura dreamily described as “a courtship rivaling the epic romances.” By the time the Captain and First Officer finally obeyed regulations and reported to Sickbay for their physical evaluation mandatory after submission of the written Forms of Intention to Pursue a Physical Relationship, which required the authorization of the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor McCoy mumbled, “About damn time,” while grimacing as he signed off on his medical approval of their relationship. He mentioned the news to the ship’s Chief Engineer that night while sharing a drink, and before forty-eight hours had passed, the entire ship’s crew knew that their top commanding officers were sleeping together.

Only…they weren’t sleeping together. They often spent time in one another’s quarters, doing anyone’s guess of activities, but it became a little more than obvious that they were not sleeping together, clothed or otherwise. Interest remained piqued, but the whispering gossip soon ceased following the day-to-day activities of Kirk and Spock.

Then orders came in from Command that _The Enterprise_ was up for planetary Winter Rest Leave and the gossip and speculation started up all over again. Kirk was amused that his love life wasn’t the only one under speculation, while Spock found he could breathe calmly and in relief that it wasn’t only his privacy being invaded anymore by the incessant and prying questions. With almost everyone trying to find someone with whom to spend their Winter Holiday Leave, the crew’s gossiping focus stretched in far too many directions. Consequently, Kirk and Spock were not bothered quite as much as they expected, much to their relief.

However, Kirk did hope to take the next step with Spock during this down time while the demands and pressures of commanding and running a starship didn’t take priority. This could be the last time for a long while during which Kirk could devote the majority of his energy and attention to his reserved lover. So, two days before the ship was to establish orbit over their assigned destination of relaxation, Kirk blurted out his desire to Spock. After Spock got over the surprise of the question with his tea half-raised to his lips, they decided to take the significant step forward in their relationship while discussing the Rest Leave rotations over breakfast in the Officer’s Mess.

That McCoy had choked on his oatmeal when Kirk proposed that Spock share his Captain’s bed didn’t even register with either of the lovers. McCoy hurried out of the Mess once he recovered, determined not to hear anything that would be burned into his memory like the acid mark on that table in Sickbay. Mercifully, coffee was easier to consume walking down the corridors of the ship.

Spock suggested that they take their leave aboard the ship. “With most of the crew seeking entertainments and rest on the planet, the ship will be quite deserted with the minimum of exceptions. This reduces the number of prying eyes significantly, and—”

“And would increase our enjoyment by not being so closely watched,” Kirk finished.

“Precisely, Captain.”

Kirk smiled at Spock’s smugly satisfied expression. “Alright, Mister Spock, you’ve got your way. On the ship we stay.” Spock saw to all of the preparations their leave would require.

Two days later, the night had arrived. They ate dinner in the privacy of Spock’s quarters. It was quiet but calm. Restful. Probably exactly what Spock had intended. By the time they finished their dinner, Kirk relaxed in such a boneless state that it took the rest of his energy to complete his evening ablutions, strip his shirt and socks, and crawl into Spock’s bed. Spock made no indication of wanting to initiate anything sexual during dinner, so Kirk did not presume it by going to Spock completely naked. He kept his comfortable lounging pants on for Spock’s sake. Spock, meanwhile, had exchanged his duty uniform for the concealing Vulcan-style sleepwear.

The proposal was that they slept together, and that was exactly what happened.

Spock did not sleep for a single minute.

Instead, he lay awake in his bed beside his Captain, staring at the ceiling and mentally counting the seconds, minutes, and hours that he could not find rest. This had never been a problem before for Spock. Then again, he had never shared his bed with anyone before that night. That very thing proved to be the source of his problem.

Kirk snored loudly. Excessively. For a Vulcan, whose natural superior hearing picked up extremely quiet noises, what came from Kirk’s face was practically deafening. This couldn’t go on. Around the sixth sleepless hour, Spock decided that he could not possibly share a bed with Jim as his lover. He had to inform Jim, as soon as the Human woke up, that their romantic association cannot continue despite the disappointment it would cause to both parties. Spock’s Vulcan biology allowed him to go without sleep for at least seventy-two consecutive hours. He had no desire to be the first Vulcan, even Half-Vulcan, to die from exhaustion because he could _never_ sleep due to a lover with a breathing problem that produced the most outrageously cacophonous disturbances! Decision made, Spock mentally prepared how to phrase this unpleasant news to Jim, who still lay loudly oblivious to the Vulcan’s turmoil.

The harsh beeping of Spock’s alarm joined the rumbling snoring of the Human for only a moment before Jim emitted a strange snuffling sound as he struggled towards consciousness. Jim slapped the alarm to silence, then moaned as he stretched. “Morning, Sweetheart,” he mumbled before pressing himself right up against Spock’s side and snuggling his face against the Vulcan’s neck to plant a sleepy kiss into the skin.

And just like that Spock’s intention to tell Jim they should terminate their romance went out the proverbial airlock.

 

The second night found Spock repeating his experience of the previous evening. He had even tried to get a head start by burrowing into his covers while Jim took his turn at the sink, brushing his teeth as noisily as he did nearly everything else. But that was all the way across the room and much easier to tune out. Spock almost allowed himself a smile as he felt the welcoming embrace of sleep descending…

…when Jim slid into the bed only to cuddle Spock from behind, placing his head immediately behind Spock’s head. Spock just barely held back a sigh as he understood just what this meant for his own sleep or lack thereof.

He was not wrong.

Before long, Jim’s unbearably loud inhales sounded like the garbled language from the creatures of Zetar being broadcast directly into his ears. He opened his eyes in frustration, glaring at the Vulcan idol near his bed, and silently entreating it to help Jim breathe quietly that night. His prayers went unanswered. This did not surprise Spock, considering his half-brother Sybok demonstrated more zealousness for Vulcan’s religions than Spock ever did, but it was disappointing all the same that no help would come to Spock that night.

He refused to fully repeat last night. With as much stealth as he could possibly manage, Spock carefully slid from the bed and crept back to his desk. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well be productive in some manner, even in an unofficial capacity. He was a scientist, after all, and scientific curiosity motivated his actions more than an unwillingness to lie motionless and awake the entire night. At least, Spock tried to convince himself of that. He plucked his tricorder from the shelf and cautiously made his way back towards the bed. Even more carefully, he lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the thick coverlet as he adjusted his tricorder to silence so he could properly complete his study. He recorded the information for five separate respiratory cycles. His tricorder could not be miscalibrated, could it? He glanced at his bedmate, wondering if it were possible that the readings he’d taken were indeed accurate.

Jim, in the midst of a boisterous inhale, choked on his own spittle and coughed himself awake. He blearily searched for his Vulcan companion and fought to blink away his sleepiness enough to rasp the question, “What’re you doing awake, Spock?”

Spock fixed his gaze on Jim’s squinting semi-conscious eyes. “Are you aware that your nocturnal vocalizations have the potential to cause hearing loss for me if I endure a prolonged exposure to it for a full eight hour sleep cycle?”

Through his partially opened eyes, Jim stared at Spock with a complete lack of comprehension. “What?”

Spock did not exactly sigh. “The volume at which you snore—”

Jim scoffed. “I don’t snore, Spock.”

Spock continued as though Jim didn’t try to interrupt him. “—exceeds that of even normal conversation levels. Your measurement, which I have recorded in decibels, registers at an average of 70.” He frowned at Jim. “That is equivalent to the noise levels produced by the machines used by members of our cleaning staff and personal yeomen.”

Jim’s offended ego brought him to a more alert and focused state. Instead of squinting at Spock, he now glared at him. “You’re making that up,” he decided.

“Your snoring registers at a level of a distant earthquake on Vulcan which my biology would be able to hear.”

Jim chuckled, willing to play along with Spock’s apparent early morning teasing. It was common for Human partners to accuse each other of snoring just to get a rise out of the other person. “You’re making that up, Spock!” he insisted through a playful grin.

“I cannot lie, Jim. Nor would I do so about such a serious thing as a 70 decibel-measured snore.”

Jim’s grin faded. “I really snore that loud?”

Spock turned his attention to his tricorder and nodded. He did not intend to make Jim self-conscious with his study. “I am merely concerned that it could be a symptom of a greater medical problem.”

Jim flopped back onto the bed. “Oh my—I am _not_ going even think about bringing this up with Bones.” He snatched the tricorder out of Spock’s hands and shoved it carelessly off the side of the bed. “Now how about some relaxing breakfast in bed?”

Spock looked at him in disapproval. “Vulcans do not consume meals in their beds.”

Jim groaned and face-planted into the pillow to muffle a frustrated shout.

 

That afternoon, Spock decided that if Jim wouldn’t do anything about this snoring problem, then he would. He refused to endure this eardrum torture for the rest of his relationship with his Captain. He would solve the problem today. He would march through those doors, find what he needed and—

“Well, well, Spock, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Spock’s motivation and determination came to a sudden halt as he saw the grinning face of Doctor McCoy leaning back in his chair, a datapad on one corner of the desk, his feet up on the other corner and crossed at the ankles. He lazily swirled a glass of amber liquid in one hand and slowly spun the stylus of his padd in the other. With his smile growing, McCoy sipped.

“I require sound dulling devices,” Spock reluctantly confessed.

“Mmm-hmm,” McCoy hummed as he sipped again. “What for?”

Spock straightened his back. “To reduce sound.”

McCoy’s characteristic irritation arrived. “I know that, Spock! I meant, what exactly are you trying not to hear?”

McCoy stared at Spock. Spock stared at McCoy. One wanted an answer and the other did not want to give it honestly. “If you came here just to stare at me, then you’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else who wants my time.” He nodded at his padd. “I’m a very busy doctor.”

“I would be curious to know the daily activities required of an un-busy doctor, Doctor, since your padd is clearly in sleep mode, indicating that you are, in fact, not busy at the present time.”

McCoy scowled into his drink. “I’m on a break. I’m allowed those, you know.”

“Considering the entire ship’s crew has been granted Winter Leave, you should be enjoying your rather lengthy rest period, correct?”

McCoy turned his scowl to Spock, who raised a challenging eyebrow. McCoy accepted that challenge. “And just how are _you_ enjoying your Winter Leave, Spock?” he asked.

“I am Vulcan,” Spock replied. “When it is time for shore leave, I rest as one should.”

“Alone or with someone?”

The question prompted Spock to swallow self-consciously. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Doctor.”

McCoy swung his feet off his desk, put his glass down, sat up and grabbed his padd in nearly one movement. He turned on the device and hurriedly stabbed his stylus on it several times like a frustrated woodpecker until he pulled up what he needed. “It’s my business when I’m the one every crewmember is required to speak to if they’re thinking of – hang on, let me find the wording here.” He scrolled through the document. “Ah, here it is.” McCoy cleared his throat. “Establishing a physical relationship with a fellow crewmember of a different species than their own.” With a flourish, he turned his padd off again, then gazed at Spock victoriously. “Now, you and I both know who we’re talking about, Spock. My question is, what the hell do you need sound dulling devices, better known as ear plugs, for?”

Spock admitted defeat with an un-Vulcan sigh. “The Captain—Jim!—vocalizes in his sleep.”

McCoy’s eyebrows gave away his confusion. “What, like he talks in his sleep?”

“Negative. He…” Spock looked down at the toes of his boots. “He snores.”

McCoy burst out laughing. Spock felt his cheeks green in embarrassment. “Well, that’s easy to fix, Spock! Wait right there. I’ll get you what you need.” McCoy stood from his chair and hurried off towards a supply closet. Within a minute, he approached Spock with a small packet which he held up like it was the solution to Spock’s evening problems. Spock certainly hoped it was the answer. “These should do the trick, Spock.”

 

They didn’t do the trick.

While Kirk still slept on, oblivious to his bedmate’s exhaustion and fraying nerves, Spock slipped from the bed. He removed the ear plugs that he’d snuck into his ears the moment Jim had fallen asleep so that the Human would not be swarmed with negative self-esteem and emotions of worry and guilt. He’d rather Jim believe that he’d rested peacefully instead of lying there on his back staring at the ceiling as he cursed his superior Vulcan hearing. But as soon as he had that thought, Spock also wondered if his hearing no longer held that edge over his Captain’s Human hearing since this deafening racket was almost certainly causing Spock hearing damage. Regardless of the situation, Spock needed a stronger noise reducer than what the Doctor had given him the previous day.

With an hour until Jim’s alarm would go off, Spock left the rooms as quietly as he could, which was silently until he reached the doors to the corridor. Then again, the hissing doors were drowned out by Jim’s snoring, so he decided he needn’t worry about them waking Jim.

Spock stalked back towards Sickbay for the second time in as many days. With his focus so narrowly on his destination, it seemed like he reached it in mere moments. A quiet hiss announced his arrival there, but he did not wait for acknowledgement. As First Officer, he knew where the medical supplies were stored. He headed there with purpose and opened the cabinets one by one, searching the shelves as efficiently as possible for what he required.

“Just _what_ in all my blessed, honest-to-God, fresh, actual Georgia peaches are you doing in my supply closet, Spock?”

He would deny it if ever asked, but Spock jumped in surprise at the Doctor’s unexpected and loud arrival. Did Humans do _anything_ quietly? Spock glanced at McCoy before resuming his search. “I require earplugs, Doctor.”

“I gave you some yesterday,” McCoy growled.

“They were insufficient.” Spock found what he sought on the very bottom shelf of the cabinet. He was too tired to bend over to read the labels on the packets. Truthfully, he feared he might fall over and cause a serious disaster in the supply closet. Rather than cause an incident that would incite the rage of the Chief Medical Officer, Spock decided he should sit down on the floor to finish his search for the ideal pair of earplugs.

“What was wrong with them?”

Spock picked up a pair, read the level they would muffle, then discarded them. “They did not reduce the noise adequately.”

McCoy crouched beside him. “In other words, you need a higher dosage.”

Spock inhaled deeply. “Yes.”

McCoy plucked the packet out of Spock’s hand and put it back, only to reach into another box and slap the packet in Spock’s palm. Spock jerked his hand away like he’d been burned. Such contact on Vulcan between unmated or unintended individuals was unheard of, but he could not fault McCoy entirely for not knowing that. He looked at the label on the packet then did a quick calculation mentally. “These are not a high enough rating.”

McCoy frowned impatiently at him. “Look, Spock, these are the highest ones I got! Either you go with these and hope to hell they work, or you go without them completely, but whatever you decide, I better not hear you complaining because I can’t do anything else for you!”

Spock looked pleadingly at McCoy. “Perhaps you could put in a requisition order for pairs with higher NRR ratings?” he asked hopefully.

“Not until our Winter Rest Leave is officially over and I actually _have to_ do some work around here again! Until then, I’ll enjoy my leave how I damn well please!” McCoy grabbed his arm and hauled the too-tired-to-fight-him Vulcan to his feet. “Now, just get out of my Sickbay, Spock, and try to enjoy yourself for a change.” Seconds later, Spock found himself shoved through the doors and standing in the corridor, his last hope for a restful sleep beside Jim clutched in his hand.

 

The alarm sounded and just as he had done every morning, Kirk blindly smacked it to silence. He wiggled his way closer to Spock’s body until he could lay fully against the full length of Spock’s back. As he slid an arm around the Vulcan’s waist, Kirk sighed contentedly, happily. Spock didn’t move a muscle, but he certainly was tense, his whole body strung tight. Well, Kirk decided he needed to remedy that. He pressed impossibly closer so that he could wake up his First Officer in the best way he knew how to wake up a lover by tracing a path from the neck all the way to the ears, typically lingering on the fleshy earlobe. But with Spock’s Vulcan genetics, the earlobe held little interest. The temptation rested in the delicate tips of Spock’s ears instead.

Kirk went to work, kissing the cool skin at the nape of Spock’s neck and working his way towards the ears, keeping the goal of those points in his sight at all times. He made it to the area just behind Spock’s ear when he noticed something strange. There was something blue shoved in Spock’s ear! “Spock?” he asked between kisses. “What the hell’s in your ear?”

Spock’s entire body deflated in disappointment or embarrassment. Sometimes it was hard to tell. “You recall that I mentioned you are quite loud in your sleep?”

“Right,” Kirk said, running his hand slowly along Spock’s ribcage. “You accused me of snoring so loud it registered as an earthquake.”

“I did not accuse you,” Spock argued quietly. “I stated a fact. You do, indeed, snore at an incredible level.”

All at once, it hit Kirk. “You’ve been wearing earplugs?”

Spock nodded, refusing to face him. “Pointlessly. It does not matter.”

“How come?”

“Doctor McCoy provided me with the strongest earplugs the ship carries and they are useless. I do not believe that there have ever been earplugs manufactured that would prevent my experiencing the seismic effects of your obscene respiration.”

Spock’s body tensed again, his entire frame rigid in frustration. Kirk wrapped his arm tightly around Spock’s waist and pulled him against him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he lamented, pressing an apologetic kiss to Spock’s neck. “I really snore that loud?”

“Unfortunately for me.”

Kirk frowned and shifted against Spock ashamedly. “And...have you gotten _any_ sleep since we started sleeping together?”

Spock did not answer immediately. “I wish I could lie.”

Kirk sighed. “I don’t.”

Spock shook his head. “I have not slept.”

Kirk snuggled closer, holding Spock gently. “I’m sorry, Spock.” He held Spock until the Vulcan finally fell asleep. Before he could join him in sleep, Kirk got out of bed to leave him in uninterrupted peace.

The rest of the day passed awkwardly to some extent. Kirk decided to catch up on some personal correspondence at the desk on his padd as quietly as he could so that Spock could finally sleep for at least eight hours. He looked at Spock through the room divider and his thoughts turned gloomy. _This is not how I’d imagined our first Winter Leave going._ He’d imagined lazily waking up together, staying under the covers enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other, enjoying a private hot breakfast, maybe even sipping some hot cocoa with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream piled on the top. Kirk grinned at his own daydreams for a moment before his fantasy caught up to his rational brain.

Hot cocoa.

He looked back at the slumbering Vulcan. Kirk smiled wickedly at the thought. An idea began to grow in Kirk’s mind.

 

Christmas morning arrived. For the first time that he could remember since signing aboard the ship to practice frontier medicine, the beds in Sickbay were miraculously empty. _It’s a Christmas miracle!_ McCoy rejoiced to himself as he saluted his silent domain with a fresh glass of celebratory eggnog.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

McCoy promptly choked on his eggnog as he turned to face Spock, who simultaneously looked like he’d survived a tornado, but also far more relaxed than McCoy had seen him the last few days. “Spock,” he managed to say in acknowledgment once he stopped coughing. “Shouldn’t you be with Jim?”

Spock actually displayed the hint of a grin. “I informed him that I had to report to Sickbay for an errand.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “An errand? What are you on about, Spock?” Then he saw it. A dark green bruise right at the base of Spock’s neck where it met his shoulder, just barely peeking out from the Vulcan’s shirt collar. A dirty, knowing, and lopsided smile lit up McCoy’s face. “And how did you sleep last night?” he asked before taking a long sip of eggnog.

Spock ducked his head, trying to hide a rapidly appearing blush. “I do not believe that is your concern, Doctor.”

McCoy hurriedly swallowed. “Damnit, man, I’m asking as your friend, not your doctor, now tell me how last night went.”

Spock shifted his weight uncomfortably. McCoy knew that if he pushed he might never know what happened. So he changed the subject. “Spock, has anyone introduced you to the Terran drink called eggnog?”

“I have not sampled that particular beverage.”

McCoy kicked a chair towards the desk. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”

Spock didn’t move. “I should not.”

“Oh come on, Spock. It’s sort of an Earth tradition to have a drink with friends on the holidays.” McCoy got out another glass and produced the bottle of eggnog from an unknown storage location that Spock could not see. The Doctor poured the drink and nudged it towards the chair he’d kicked over for Spock. “Sit down, Spock.”

Finally, Spock walked over and gingerly sat down. McCoy didn’t miss the gesture and hid his smile by taking another sip. Before he need for ship’s gossip had him ask further, Spock began to speak. “Yesterday, Jim discovered that in order to sleep in the same bed, I require the use of the earplugs. He was dismayed by this.” McCoy nodded encouragingly. “He let me sleep during the day while he was awake. But _I_ was dismayed by this. I understood that in Terran culture, the Winter Holiday should be spent in the company of loved ones. How can we be in the company of each other if we have opposite sleep-wake cycles?”

“Well, if you aren’t sleeping because he keeps you up all night snoring, then—” McCoy stopped talking as soon as he saw Spock’s blush deepen. “What the hell happened last night?”

Spock downed half of his eggnog before he answered. “When I confessed to Jim that his unconscious vocalizations prevented me from sleep despite utilizing the highest rated earplugs you could provide, he—” Spock cleared his throat. “He tried an alternative medicine.”

McCoy took his own long gulp of eggnog. He suspected where this conversation headed, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know for sure. “And by that you mean?” he prompted.

The words rushed out of Spock’s mouth. “The Captain proceeded to share a hot cocoa with me, before we retired to bed, where, in our relaxed state, we initiated sexual relations.” McCoy threw his head back, finishing off his eggnog in one shot. “Which lasted long into what would be mid-gamma shift if the ship were on normal duty hours.” McCoy refilled his glass, regretting making Spock sit down to talk about it. “By the time our mating—” McCoy swigged. “—had concluded, Jim had successfully exhausted the both of us physically, which allowed me to sleep peacefully.”

“My God,” McCoy mumbled into his eggnog. He stared at the pale liquid for a long moment. _Why did I even ask?_ He took another hefty sip. “Well, I guess all I can say is congratulations, Spock.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spock finished his drink and stood from his chair. “If you will excuse me, I should return to Jim. He expressed a wish to spend the day together.” He reached into his pocket and set a tiny, wrapped box on McCoy’s desk. “This is for you, Doctor. I believe the Terran phrase is Happy Christmas.” With that, he left Sickbay.

McCoy glared at the box suspiciously. Finishing off his eggnog, he picked it up and carefully unwrapped it. What he found inside made him smile. Nestled on a small, delicate white cloth were two used blue earplugs. “Merry Christmas, Hobgoblin.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! Leave a comment! Thank you! ~ RK


End file.
